


As a Seal On Your Heart

by Crazy_Dumpling



Category: Legion (2010)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Movie, biblical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Dumpling/pseuds/Crazy_Dumpling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael offers Gabriel a lesson in faith. (Post-movie fix it fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	As a Seal On Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Since Legion doesn't really define its mythological canon all that well, I'm using mostly Old Testament mythology as the basis for this fic. Also, this fic is pretty much the result of me just wanting Michael/Gabriel comfort sex fic, so you can blame both Paul Bettany and Kevin Durand for this blasphemy. The verse is from the American Catholic Bible and I am aware it is translated somewhat differently in other versions.

_Set me as a seal on your heart,…  
For stern as death is love, relentless as the nether world is devotion;   
its flames are a blazing fire._

-Song of Songs 8:6

 

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Gabriel soars high above the silent desert and tries to think. It wasn't meant to end like this. Hadn't he done everything that had been asked of him? Hadn't he been the first, always, to take up his mace and go to battle, regardless of what he was asked to do? Had he not been the perfect Dog of Heaven, leading the rest of the Host without any further thoughts than how best to achieve his Master's will? When the Morning Star fell, was he not one of the first to defend the Throne against the rampaging hordes of the Fallen? All that had mattered was that the Master should be happy with his work, and that was sufficient for him.

How, then, could he have failed Him in this latest endeavour? Has he been so blinded by his notions of duty that he has now forgotten what it truly means to be his Master's servant? And what of Michael's actions? Michael, the prodigal son of Heaven, lover of humanity, is alive still, and more in the Master's favour than ever before. Is this what Michael's rebellion has led to? A stay of execution for the humans who scatter beneath his wings and a resurrection from death? What of his sacrifices and service? Don't they count for anything at all?

A plateau appears in the distance, warmed by the rays of the rising sun, and Gabriel flaps his wings harder as he heads in its direction, trying to ignore the pain shooting across his abdomen. It will heal, he supposes, soon enough. Or he will ask Raphael to see to it when he returns. If he returns, he thinks suddenly. A failure to his Lord he has been, and perhaps the Master's will would be better served by Michael alone, now. Gabriel reaches the plateau, and is amused to see that an enterprising human has set up a small shelter here, perhaps to better observe the local wildlife from a higher vantage point. It looks abandoned, and Gabriel ventures inside, searches for a First Aid kit, which he finds under piles of old newspapers and leaflets advertising fishing tackle stacked next to a curiously clean cot. Angels have much faster rates of healing than humans, but there is no harm in trying to hurry the process along. He shucks away the heavy breastplate of his armour with a grateful sigh, then peels away his under-robes to reveal the purple coloured gash puckering his skin. The disinfectant smarts as Gabriel smears it into the wound, but it is only a minor irritation. Slowly, painfully, he takes needle, thread, bandages, and proceeds to dress his wound.

Gabriel thinks about the future as he unwinds a snowy white roll of bandages. He thinks of the past as well, and all the times he and the rest of the Host have spoken about the nature of humanity. The Master's creation, he had said, and His to to do what He willed with. There were those who disagreed, of course, and said that such lowly creatures should not have been pushed ahead of angels as the greatest object of His love. Those were the ones who Fell quite quickly, seduced by the assumption that the annihilation of humanity would make their Lord realise just how irreplaceable they were in His affection. They were wrong, however. They were always wrong; in defying the Master's orders so absolutely they had cast themselves out of Heaven as surely as if the Master had done it Himself. Michael and himself had been the first to begin the cull of the Fallen Angels, and Gabriel remembers the solemn set of Michael's brow as his sword flashed golden in the eternal sunshine of Heaven, cutting down any who would stand against the Lord. He remembers standing next to Michael, the both of them fending off the gnashing teeth and clawing hatred of Lucifer's hordes, the satisfaction of swinging his battle mace into heads filled to the brim with poisoned words and evil heresy.

They had fought together, then. Michael would do anything to protect his beloved humans, and Gabriel had unending belief in the justness of the Lord's cause. It was easier, too, when the world was still young and mankind was still finding its slow way to modernity, but even then Gabriel had seen how the seeds of darkness had sprouted in men's souls. They fought constantly, dreaming up new ways of pouring destruction upon each other, of the ways with which to enslave those who they deemed lower than they were, of the best ways to kill a man and to prolong his pain for their enjoyment. They were lascivious, coveting what they could not have, whether riches or the affections of a man or woman, or innocent child. All this the Master endured for an age, and then he had sent a deluge to wash away the sins of Man, but Michael had pleaded with Him to spare His most loved creation. Thus had an old man been allowed to build a craft to save some of humanity. But still they would not learn.

"Give them time enough," Michael would say, when yet another war raged on the earth below them. "They will learn. We must all have faith; there are those of them that will understand the Master's teachings."

"If our Lord has willed it," Gabriel answered, "then it must be so. But He grows ever tired of their incessant slaughter."

"Have you no faith in Mankind, brother?"

"I have faith in the Master's plans. Whatever he decides for humanity will be its fate. It is not for me to question His reasoning."

Michael's blue eyes matched the colour of the sky on a clear, cloudless day. "Perhaps it is only by questioning His will that we might be able to better understand it, Gabriel."

Gabriel had said nothing, for his brother's words came dangerously close to the heresy he had once heard from the Morning Star. Not that Lucifer had, in the end, wanted or even pretended to understand the Lord's will, of course. But questioning the Master was a dangerous business, and he did not want to see Michael take the same route as the Fallen. Even now, it hurts to think of Michael's sacrifice for the Child's survival and his choice to stand against his brethren. Michael was (is? Gabriel is not so sure now) Gabriel's closest confidant amongst the Generals of the Host and, more importantly, his brother with whom he shared almost all his thoughts. They were echoes of each other, able to anticipate each other's actions on the field of battle, or when discussing the nature of the Master's love and the state of humanity. Gabriel took no pleasure in fighting him, and truth be told (as if anything on earth could stop the Lord from knowing his innermost thoughts), the sight of Michael stepping over the weakened protector of the Child, as whole as the day he had been created, had brought as much relief as frustration at being denied the chance to finish the task the Master had given him.

And what must the Master think of him now? A failure, surely, who did not know when such a great test of his judgement was being administered. Has his blind trust in the inherent justness of his Lord's wishes been such a fallacy? How is he even fit to oversee the mission that has been entrusted to him? Do his orders still remain the same, given all that has happened, or is the destruction of creation postponed indefinitely given the unexpected survival of the Child? What should his proper cause of action be? All these thoughts swirl in his mind, finding no easy answers and raising even more questions than conclusions that it makes his hands shake, prolonging the already arduous chore of tending to the wound.

After an age, however, the gash is finally stitched and bandaged and Gabriel cuts off the excess dressing, still deep in thought. He hears the beat of wings high above the ground seconds before Michael pushes the door open to the small cabin, his expression serene and his hands empty of any visible weapon. That, at least, means that Gabriel will not be punished for his failure just yet.

"Gabriel," he says calmly. Gabriel turns his head slightly to acknowledge his presence, but says nothing more, his wings twitching involuntarily as Michael comes closer.

"You are not one who would come to gloat over a vanquished enemy," Gabriel states flatly. "And the humans who lived here are either in hiding or dead. So why are you here?"

"I have need of you."

The response is so simple, so ironic, that Gabriel permits himself a snort of derision before facing Michael properly.

"You are one to talk to me of need! Haven't you proven your point already?" He indicates his chest. "I will not be forgetting the lesson anytime soon, if that is your concern."

"There is no need to be petty." Michael snaps back, but he steps forward to check the dressing and clicks his tongue in annoyance when blood seeps through the linen of the bandages as he prods at the wound carefully with his fingers. "You need a proper salve on this."

"It will heal in time," Gabriel says, waving his brother's hands away. "And I would not want to bother Raphael with such a minor scratch."

"All the better that I procured something from him before I came, then." From a pocket in his robes, Michael produces a small, light blue pillbox. "Get rid of those wrappings."

Gabriel looks doubtfully at the small container Michael is holding. "Michael…"

"Now." Michael's expression brooks no resistance. And since Gabriel is in no mood for any further argument, he starts untying the bandages, tossing them to the ground. The gash is deep, but his stitches are holding the skin together, for the moment. Michael draws a breath in and regards him with something akin to worry in his eyes. "The wound is deeper than I thought."

"You underestimate your skill with a sword, then." Gabriel tells him, not unkindly. He feels no malice towards Michael. Why should he? Of the two of them, it is obvious that Michael has the fuller understanding of the Master's orders. He will be lucky to escape this episode without any serious repercussions. Perhaps he will demoted, become one of the foot-soldiers of Heaven, who are now presumably possessing more weak-willed humans. He wonders what being a human would feel like. Certainly it would make for an ironic experience, at the very least. But the purpose would be much the same, he supposes. A vessel of the Lord's will is still a vessel, no matter what form it takes. Being pressed into a humbler position would at least teach him the dangers of his hubris in assuming he could read the Master's will.

"Sit down." Michael's voice draws him out of his reverie, and before he can comprehend what is happening, Gabriel is being pushed down onto the cot. Michael's touch is gentle, but insistent. He opens the pillbox and drops down beside Gabriel, their wings rubbing against each other as he maneuvers into a comfortable enough position for him to apply the salve. It shines a pale pink in the strong morning sun, and Gabriel hisses in surprise at its coolness as Michael rubs it into the skin. Raphael's handiwork is all too apparent when a sudden warmth flares in Gabriel's chest and the skin knits itself together. There is not quite enough for the whole wound, and Michael looks apologetic as he uses the last of the salve to close it as much as possible. The ointment leaves a shallow cut about the length of Michael's palm, and this he binds with new bandages, embracing Gabriel from behind as he unwinds the roll. For his part, Gabriel sits still and lets Michael work, feeling his brother's breath on his neck, careful not to make any sudden movements with his wings. At length Michael stops to examine his work.

"How does it feel?" He asks, securing the final knot.

"Better than it did before. Thank you."

Before Gabriel can do anything else, Michael cups his cheek with his hand, turns Gabriel's face to meet his own. "I am sorry that I had to hurt you."

It is an absurd apology, so Gabriel follows with one of his own. "I am sorry that I _killed_ you." Because he is, and Michael should know it felt like something inside him died as well when he stabbed the sharp spike of the mace through the both of them. So there, they are equal.

"Aren't you curious to know why I came?" Michael asks, his breath ghosting across Gabriel's lips. "Why I need you?"

"He has asked you to take me back before the Throne for His judgement." Gabriel is sure of this fact. He refuses to meet Michael's eyes.

"Fool. He meant for you to fail this task, Gabriel. He meant for us both to understand His ways more fully, and for that I had to fall. And you, you had to fail Him for the first time."

"Blasphemy," Gabriel murmurs, though his words lack the proper conviction. "How can you say such things?"

"Because He told me Himself," Michael whispers, loud in the silence, "and we both need you by His side."

"Do you?" Gabriel has always been sure that he is expendable. Dependable, yes, but if some other angel could serve the Lord better than him, he would gladly step aside.

"Yes. Because I have faith in you, brother." And Michael touches Gabriel's bottom lip with his thumb, so if feels like the most natural thing for Gabriel to close the small distance between them and kiss him. The sun is high in the clouds outside, and it flashes golden behind Gabriel's shut eyes as Michael kisses back, all light and irresistible strength. They have not kissed like this for a long time, allowing the world outside of them to slowly melt away until they feel nothing but each other, want nothing but each other. Brothers they might be, but lovers as well, for who apart from the Master could love Michael more than Gabriel does? Who else would willingly lay down his life for Michael, if not him? No other angel had been allowed to step forward for the mission of killing the Child and - as was understood - Michael when the order came, because no other angel dared risk the burning anger of his brother.

Gabriel kisses Michael like a half-starved man, desperate to show how much he has missed this intimacy, and how sorry he is for his earlier actions, for his stupid moment of misguided pride. The warmth in his chest grows, enveloping Gabriel in a hazy cocoon of warmth and lust. Their tongues tangle, and Michael swallows Gabriel's groan of urgency as his fingers stroke the sensitive edges of Gabriel's wings. The tips are razor-sharp, designed for battle, but when they are stroked as gently as Michael does it now, the resulting stimulation is enough to drive Gabriel mad with pleasure. He pulls his lips away before the haze of lust can envelop him completely, but Michael seems to have read his mind and smiles, showing his teeth like a wolf.

"Down," he says, and suits words to action, pushing at Gabriel's shoulders so that he is lying back on the cot and being straddled by Michael, who begins to strip off his own armour. It only feels right that Gabriel should help him with this task (though he would never admit to being impatient), and soon they are both tugging and pulling at leather and metal and linen until Michael is gloriously naked, his limbs radiant with sunlight and life. Gabriel's remaining clothing is soon shucked as well, pushed off the narrow cot in Michael's haste to touch his brother, skin to skin. For a while, he does nothing, simply stares down at Gabriel, his expression inscrutable, his fingers dancing over old scars and drawing patterns on the contours of Gabriel's chest, lingering over the edges of the bandages. Then his hands move higher, tracing the line of neck and jaw, and then Gabriel's cheekbones, then down to his lips. Michael sighs.

"Beloved."

He kisses Gabriel again, this time sliding one arm around Gabriel's neck to press them closer, his other hand bracing itself against Gabriel's chest. They devour each other, fighting with teeth and lips and tongue, and Michael makes a sound in his throat, half growl of lust, half mewl of pleasure at his prey's easy surrender. Gabriel's fingers find their way down Michael's body, trying to touch all of him at once. They settle at his hips and dig in as Gabriel bucks against Michael, desire finally getting the better of his self-control. His need for Michael is frightening in its ferocity and it reminds Gabriel just how long it has been since they have allowed themselves to indulge in such passion. Then Michael breaks the kiss and looks him in the eyes, the raw lust naked on his face. He takes Gabriel's hands and, never breaking eye contact, proceeds to slide each finger slowly into his mouth, sucking gently, tonguing at the pad with exquisite care. His meaning is clear, and Gabriel tugs his hand away before Michael has finished, his thumb leaving Michael's mouth with some difficulty. They pause for a beat, and then Gabriel slides his hands down the length of Michael's body again, this time not stopping until they reach the curve of his ass.

"Are you sure?" He asks, even though he can feel Michael's cock pressing against his belly like an exclamation. His answer is a mangled curse in Enochian, which is all the assurance he needs. Slowly, he pushes one finger into Michael and is rewarded with a gasp that goes straight to his already painfully hard erection. Gabriel pushes another finger in and Michael whines, pushes against his hand. Gabriel fucks him steadily; pushing in, pressing upward, the two of them finding a perfect rhythm almost immediately. Michael spits in his own palm and takes both of their erections in his hand, stroking them together, arching back onto Gabriel's hand. It feels so good, so natural, and Gabriel can feel his climax rushing over him when Michael stops his stroking. Flustered, he pulls his fingers away and Michael smiles his wolf's smile again. With an effort he shifts himself along along Gabriel's body until the cleft of his ass is sitting over Gabriel's straining cock. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowers himself down and it is all Gabriel can do not to flip him over and drive straight into him. He is beautifully hot and tight and wet and Gabriel grips Michael's thighs violently as Michael begins to ride him, their hips rocking steadily together, Michael's hand on his own cock now a blur as he jerks himself off in time with Gabriel's thrusting. Gabriel's breath comes in bursts and his wings tear the bedsheets to shreds as he tries to lift himself off the cot in order to drive himself even more deeply into Michael, whose wings are outstretched as he arches his back, blocking out the sun. It does not take much longer; Gabriel's thrusts become more frantic and irregular, until he comes with a hoarse cry, burying his face in the hollow of Michael's chest. Michael's own orgasm is quieter, and he slumps against Gabriel, his seed coating both their bellies like an obscene blessing.

They stay like that for a while, listening to each other breathing, feeling the pounding of their hearts slow to a more steady beat. Then Gabriel laughs drily. "I am forgiven, then?"

"There is nothing to forgive," Michael answers. He draws a breath in and lifts himself off Gabriel, finds some leftover linen scraps to clean both of them off and tosses a handful to Gabriel. "Though sometimes I wish you weren't so insufferably stubborn."

He watches as Gabriel cleans off the evidence of their lovemaking, then adds, "I suppose I shouldn't have expected you to be anything other than completely obedient. You are better at that than I."

"And you are better at understanding His needs, Michael." A wry smile creases Gabriel's face, "I still have much to learn about faith and mercy."

"As do I, brother." Michael says, smiling sadly. "His ways are still the greatest mystery to me."

They take their time dressing each other, not lingering, but not rushing either. Michael kisses the spot over Gabriel's heart before helping him lace on his breastplate, being careful to check that the bandages on his chest are not caught on any sharp edges. Fully dressed once again, they regard each other for a moment before Michael strides outside into the bright sunshine, lifting his face towards the sky. In the far distance Gabriel spots the clapped-out LAPD car with the Child in it, driving towards one of the new refuges for humans. He feels no inclination to chase it down now. The memories of the night before are still raw in his mind, raising fresh doubts in his mind about this new world and his place in it. But then Michael is standing in front of him, clasping his hands around Gabriel's neck, bringing their foreheads together.

"Have faith in yourself. As I have in you."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you want me to do?"

"No," Michael's smile is wide. "It is what you need to do."

The sky is a bright, cloudless blue. It matches Michael's eyes perfectly as they both soar upwards, the red sand of the desert sprawling out far below them, the golden rays of the sun welcoming them home once more.


End file.
